Missing

****Fiction work

Sometimes, I'd sneak in and listen to the songs he'd been listening. But I'd go after -- after he has finished listening. When he'll get up and walk out, I'll sneak in quietly and sit in the exact corner he sat to get a fainting hint of his scent; to feel the warmth of his body. 

What's odd is that you learn to not think about someone when they are out of your life. You convince yourself of whatever reasons, of whatever logic you have given yourself of why it is supposed to be the way it is. The pain fades, and some times it is not the conscious mind that brings it back, it's oddly the habits that remind me of what is not there anymore

It would be so easy to have him around today, because it is easy to romanticize the idea of someone who is far away. It's far more difficult to deal with them when they are close. It's easy to phase out the thoughts of the misery they cause neatly wrapped in their little bursts of joys.  Some people, by their every existence, take so much space, and we just don't have it.

Song for the moment :

"Hai kya ye jo tere mere darmiyan he, Andekhi ansuni koi dastaan hai...
Lagne lagi hai, ab zindagi ye... Khaali...
Lagne lagi hai, ab saans bhi ye... Khali...
Bin tere... 
Koi khalish hai hawao me bin tere